


Just Let Me Lose Control

by tryslora



Category: Welcome to PHU Series - Tris Lawrence
Genre: A Tie as a Rope, Canon Compliant, College Life, Demiromantic Character, Dirty Talk, Explicit Consent, First Time, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Held Down, Kink Negotiation, Kissing, Light Bondage, M/M, Missing Scene, No Strings Attached, Pansexual Character, Polyamorous Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-10
Updated: 2017-05-10
Packaged: 2018-10-30 11:38:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10875999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tryslora/pseuds/tryslora
Summary: Alaric takes out his phone and it takes him five tries to type the words into a brand new conversation to a number that he took without thinking he’d use it. They look stark and solid in the little space on the screen, and he feels his breath punch out when he presses send.If you meant it, I need to get laid.The text comes back quicker than he expects.No strings attached.





	Just Let Me Lose Control

**Author's Note:**

> This is a story out of my web serial, an extra scene that happens off-camera from the actual book. It takes place right after Chapter 4 of the Rush arc, when Alaric sends the message in the summary to his friend Thorne, taking him up on an offer. I wrote it about six months ago for my patrons, and promised that everyone else would get to read it after six months have passed. And here we are. :D
> 
> For those who don't know this tiny fandom, this is MY fandom. You can read the source material on Tumblr (link at the end!) and the first book of the first trilogy in the series is almost complete (it will finish posting in June).
> 
> You can also read this story without needing to know anything about the rest of the world; just sit back and enjoy Alaric's first time. :D

Thorne’s address is on the opposite side of campus from Teas Please. As Alaric cuts through campus, he veers away from the path that leads toward Townhouse Row. It might be a quicker way to get to Bennington Street, but he doesn’t want to head past home. He might change his mind. He might start thinking.

And he really doesn’t want to think.

He passes through the Quad, and past Hopper and Kingston, taking the road up the hill by the athletic complex. The lights for the field are on, and he can hear shouts; intramurals must be practicing tonight.

Bennington Street curves across the top of campus, along the side of the hill. There are lights dotted along it on one side, above the sidewalk, and beyond the houses a heavy tree line separates campus from the rest of town. Alaric remembers from his first campus tour that many of the professors live in the neighborhood just beyond this street, but these particular duplexes are primarily student flats.

He checks the house number on his phone and turns left, walking slightly back down the hill as the road curves away from campus, until he finds 234. _Door on the left_ , the text reads _. Ring the bell, and I’ll come down. Hope you don’t mind music_.

The porch looks like someone’s thinking about decorating for Halloween, even though it’s only September. There’s a black wreath lit with purple and orange lights on the other door, and the naked bulb hanging from the light fixture is also orange. A skeleton is slumped in an ancient wicker chair at the opposite end of the porch, cobwebs tangled around its feet and stretching to the rails of the porch.

Either someone’s really early with their holiday spirit, or they never cleaned up from last year. Alaric gets the feeling that the answer could go either way.

He presses the button for the doorbell, hears the clunking ring of it on the second floor. The music Thorne mentioned is loud enough to be easily audible, a thumping bass underlining the scratch of the guitar. Classic rock, but nothing Alaric can identify. There are foot steps on the stairs, then the music pours out into the night air as the door opens.

Thorne’s hair is yanked back into a messy ponytail, and he’s wearing only soft grey sweat pants with the purple and gold PHU shield on the left hip. He grins at Alaric. “Get in here before I freeze my nipples off.” He wraps his hand around Alaric’s wrist, and Alaric braces himself to be yanked, but there’s only a soft pull. The gentleness startles Alaric and he stumbles forward, stubbing his toe on the edge of the doorway and crowding into Thorne as he moves into the entryway.

There isn’t a lot of space, or light other than what drifts down from the landing on the second floor. There’s a small hallway next to the stairs, filled with two bikes and a skateboard, then the wooden stairs leading up. It smells a little like old beer, and Alaric frowns trying to identify the other odor.

“Pot,” Thorne says. “Not mine. The girls downstairs like to get stoned. It’s not my thing, but live and let live. We can’t smell it upstairs, at least, even if it always smells like it down here. They’ve got their own door to the outside, but the one down there leads from their apartment into the hall, so they can get to the laundry room we share.” He points to a door just past the bikes at the other end of the narrow hall, and one beyond it that’s propped open.

Alaric can’t imagine trying to get past the bikes with a pile of laundry, but then, it’s not like he’s the one living here. It must work out somehow.

“Hey.” Thorne touches Alaric’s arm and Alaric flinches reflexively. Thorne’s hand drops away. “Look, if you’ve changed your mind on your way over here—”

“I haven’t.” Alaric rushes the words out, pushes them past the objections that are still filling his mind, still warning him that this is a bad idea. “No strings.”

Thorne laughs. “No strings. I mean, if you wanted strings, I could try for that.” He tilts his head, has to look up a bit because he’s a good few inches shorter than Alaric. “But I’m not looking for strings right now, either. I figure they’ll find me eventually, but I don’t need them to be happy.”

“Good.” Alaric exhales, tries to let go of the tension that’s still lingering. He flexes his fingers, feels the static on his skin that’s leftover from being crowded onto the bench at Teas Please, and a fresh kind of ozone crackle in the air that’s probably Thorne’s arousal. Explosive. That’s how people describe him, and Alaric can smell that as he leans closer, inhales roughly by Thorne’s temple.

There’s a low chuckle, and a hand presses against Alaric’s cheek. “C’mere,” Thorne says, and he nudges lightly, moving Alaric just enough that Thorne can meet him for a press of lips.

It’s almost chaste, until Thorne exhales and Alaric tastes his breath, feels the tickle of something over his skin that leaves the hound howling. Alaric whines softly and Thorne opens his mouth, slides his tongue lightly along the seam of Alaric’s lips, and Alaric lets him in.

The whine is louder this time. Alaric’s knees buckle and Thorne crowds into him, nudges him back until the wall holds Alaric up. Thorne cradles Alaric’s face, touch gentle and callouses rough. Alaric’s eyes are closed, his hands tight at his sides, and he feels the way his heart is racing in his chest. It thumps as the scent of musk rises in the air, as Thorne keeps Alaric’s head down where he can reach it. As Thorne presses in close, fits his body along the line of Alaric’s, his hip wedged against Alaric’s crotch.

Alaric loosens his fingers, reaches for Thorne’s shoulders and holds on. When Thorne breaks the kiss, Alaric stares at him, clutches at his shoulders to keep him from moving too far away.

The corners of Thorne’s eyes crinkle when he grins. “We should probably move this upstairs. Unless you have a thing about getting off where someone else could walk in on us.”

Heat suffuses Alaric’s skin and he shakes his head. “Definitely not.”

“Then come with me.” Thorne takes Alaric’s hand, threads their fingers together and tugs gently as he heads up the stairs. “Mike and Delwin are out, but Casey’s home. That’s his idea of mood music that you’re hearing, and if he keeps it loud enough, we don’t have to listen to the way his girlfriend screams. They’ve been together since our freshman year, and I remember when they hooked up on our hall. The first time she stayed over, Mike got sexiled and about an hour later, we thought someone was being murdered. Seriously, our RA busted into their room and there they were, going at it, oblivious to everything else. She’s just loud, apparently. Which is funny, because he’s dead quiet.”

The top of the stairs has another small hallway for the landing, this time littered with boots, shoes, and pegs for jackets. Alaric glances at Thorne. “Do I have to…?” His voice trails off as he points at the shoes.

Thorne shakes his head. “Not a house rule, no, but none of us are really fans of shoes. Prim leaves slippers here.”

“Who’s Prim?”

“Casey’s girlfriend. Short for Primrose. Her parents are about as hippie as my grandparents.”

Thorne twists the handle, pushes the door open as music floods out. It’s still muffled somewhat, like it comes from behind a closed door somewhere, and it occurs to Alaric that it doesn’t work for him. He can still hear the little shrieks and moans, and he can smell the thick scent of pleasure. He licks his lips, the heat pricking under his skin even more than before.

“You can come in,” Thorne says quietly, motioning at the door. “Or we can go sit outside if that’s better.”

Alaric crouches down, quickly undoes the ties on his sneakers before he shoves them off and leaves them with all the others. He stalks through the door, his stocking-feet sliding against the old linoleum as it takes them straight into the kitchen.

Thorne comes in behind him, closes the door with a thunk that makes Alaric twitch. He can feel the heat as Thorne presses against him, one hand on Alaric’s hip, the other gesturing to indicate the kitchen, then a small hall leading past it in one direction, and a larger living room in the other. “So, this is home, where I live with three other guys and apparently Prim as a bonus roommate who doesn’t actually pay rent. We were all hallmates back in our freshman year, then they stuck around so they’re juniors now, while I took a year off. Casey’s room is at the end of the hall, across the back of the house. It used to be a porch, but someone turned it into a room, and it’s surprisingly warm in the winter. I think because it’s next to the kitchen and the walls are thin. Mike has the other room off the kitchen, and Delwin’s in the room next to the living room. I’m at the front of the house, and my room was also a porch once, and it isn’t particularly warm in the winter. Which is why it’s mine.”

He gestures, and Alaric follows him through the living room to where Thorne yanks open a pair of double sliding doors. The room beyond is bright and sunny, ringed with windows, and a sliding door to one side that apparently leads out onto the roof of one side of the porch below. Most of the windows are open, and the room is cool from the early fall night air.

In some ways, part of the room feels familiar. There are two guitars on stands, and one bass. There’s an old wooden desk and it’s covered with notebooks and hand-written sheet music. A full-size keyboard is on a stand next to the wall, and headphones are plugged in and hanging on a hook nearby. It makes Alaric think of Rory, which he supposes is normal, considering Thorne’s his brother and bandmate.

The music equipment is where the familiarity ends. The bed is at the opposite end of the room, a simple full-sized mattress and box spring with no frame. Despite being on the floor, it’s neatly made. A pile of text books towers next to it on one side, and an open backpack and papers litter the floor on the other. “Believe it or not, I was doing homework when you texted.” Thorne gathers up the papers, piles them neatly and shoves them into a folder, then puts everything off to one side. “Anyway. This is my home away from home.”

Alaric looks around the room again, then back at the double door that’s still open, leading into the living room. “Rory misses living with you,” he says.

Thorne sighs and sinks on the edge of the mattress. “You can close that, if you want, or leave it open if you’re not feeling ready to be shut in a room with me.” He waves at the door. “And yes, there’s a lock. If you’re looking for privacy.”

Alaric carefully tugs the door shut, slides the lock closed. It clicks and his heart thumps.

“I miss living with Rory, too,” Thorne says quietly. He’s leaning back on the bed, his elbows, down, legs crossed where he’s stretched out. “We shared a room growing up. We’re close. Really close, like probably Clan levels of close. Half the time we shared a bed, and I’m only saying that because I know you understand it and know I don’t mean anything weird by it. So yeah, I’ve had more time to get used to it than he has, but it’s still weird knowing that he’s not sleeping right there.” He hesitates, tilts his head. “Is Rory what you want to talk about?”

“No.” Alaric isn’t sure what to do now, where to go. There’s a chair by the desk, and a beanbag on the floor. And the bed. Where Thorne is. “You’ve told me I could leave three times. Do you want me here?”

Thorne sits up, bends his knees and spreads his legs as he leans forward. “Do you want to be here?”

Alaric’s mouth goes dry. “Yeah.”

“Then yes, I want you to be here.” Thorne slides over, pats the empty space next to him. “Stop hovering. You look like you’re afraid I’m going to attack you.”

“I don’t know what….” Alaric gestures from himself to Thorne. “We…. How does this…?”

It seemed easier with the phone between them. Easier to say what he wanted. What he needed. And now that he’s here, and in Thorne’s bedroom, he’s tongue-tied and terrified, his heart hammering loud enough that he feels like Thorne should hear it.

“Let’s start with you sitting down.” Thorne waits until Alaric sits, then turns to hitch one knee up on the bed, leg bent so he can face Alaric. “First question: what is it that you want?”

“To make my skin stop itching,” Alaric says. It’s honest, it’s the first thing that he can think of, and it makes his face heat. “I just… I wanted—”

“To get off?” Thorne asks, and when Alaric nods, Thorne settles one hand on his knee. “With some help?”

Thorne’s hand is hot against Alaric’s knee. It probably isn’t any warmer than normal, but Alaric is hyper aware of it, sensitive to the touch even through his jeans. There’s a low level of musk already in the room, and when Alaric licks his lips and inhales, he smells more. He nods slowly. “Thought about going back to my room,” he admits, “but Rory might’ve been there. And besides, it just felt like I needed—”

“To get laid,” Thorne finishes the sentence for him.

Thorne’s thumb is sliding against the denim over Alaric’s knee, and it’s a mesmerizing sensation. One stroke, two strokes. Alaric feels it all the way up his thigh, wonders if that’s what it’s always like. It takes him a moment to realize that Thorne’s speaking again. “What?”

“I asked if you’ve done anything with anyone else before,” Thorne says quietly. “Because I may be pan and poly, but I don’t want to drag anyone over a cliff they’re not ready for.”

“It wasn’t my first kiss,” Alaric grumbles. He tries to leave it at that, but Thorne just waits until Alaric growls softly. “No,” he mutters. “I didn’t exactly come from a place with a lot of gay pride. Besides. You said no strings.”

“These aren’t strings. This is consent negotiation and me making sure I know what you want,” Thorne says bluntly. “If it’s your first time, I’m pretty sure you’re not asking me to finger you wide open and fuck you. Or maybe you are, I don’t know, so I need you to tell me that. I’m not going to laugh at anything you say, I’m not going to shame you for anything. You want me to blow you? Fine. You want to blow me? Very much fine. Hand jobs? I’m okay with that. Hell, if you want me to be your live action porn and jerk off for you, I can do that too. But I want to make sure you’re comfortable, Alaric, and I don’t want you to feel like you have to do something just because you think I expect it. Okay?”

“Okay.” The words slips out on an exhale. “I’ve watched porn. I’m not a technological idiot.”

“Didn’t say you were.” Thorne raises his other hand, presses the palm flat against the side of Alaric’s face. “So kissing is a yes, right?” When Alaric nods, Thorne nods. “Then here’s my suggestion. You strip out of your shirt and your jeans before you constrict something that doesn’t want to be constricted, and then we lie down and do just that.”

It’s reasonable. It’s very reasonable, but it’s not _enough_. “I want more,” Alaric mutters, but he pulls off his shirt anyway, tosses it to one side. He can feel the weight of Thorne’s gaze, can smell the rise in tension in the room. In the distance, the rock music shifts tempo, and there’s a low shriek building to a crescendo. It shivers under Alaric’s skin, and he stops with his hand on the fly of his jeans, his eyes closed.

“She’s getting loud,” Thorne says quietly. “This is about the point where I just give up and listen and get myself off, because I’m pretty sure it’s not intruding on their privacy when they don’t bother to use a gag.”

Alaric snorts.

“I offered to buy them one.” Thorne shrugs, and Alaric watches the play of his muscles as he moves. He wants to touch, so he does, reaching for Thorne’s shoulder, sliding his hand over the skin. It’s warm and smooth, more muscular than he expected. Thorne smiles. “Feel free to touch anything you want. But I still think you should take your jeans off, first.”

Right.

Alaric has to stand up to get them off, shoving them down while managing to keep his boxer briefs in place. It does nothing to hide that he’s half hard, but that’s okay because he can smell Thorne’s arousal, knows that he’s not alone in this. He’s made that mistake before, misjudged because he didn’t know how to ask and didn’t want to intrude. He’s willing to let the hound give him an edge this time.

He kneels back on the bed, and Thorne leans up to meet him, nudges him back until he’s lying with his head on Thorne’s pillow. Thorne straddles him, and Alaric can see the outline of his dick through his sweat pants, where it rests near Alaric’s crotch.

“Just kissing for now,” Thorne says softly. “Yes?”

“Yeah.” And when Thorne hovers just out of reach, Alaric reaches up and tugs him closer, pulls him so that he can slant their mouths together.

Thorne places his hands on either side of Alaric’s shoulders, holds himself up, bending at the neck so that Alaric can move his head into place. When Alaric tentatively reaches out with his tongue, Thorne smiles against his mouth and pushes back, takes the depth of the kiss that Alaric gives him, until Alaric groans and shifts his hips.

He can feel the heat of Thorne’s hands near him, and his knees by his hips, but that’s it. The only part of Thorne that’s touching Alaric is his mouth, and it’s maddening. “More,” Alaric growls, fingers tight on Thorne’s shoulder.

Thorne pulls back, his fair skin flushed a bright red. “More what?”

It’s a question again and it makes Alaric want to howl his frustration. “I don’t know,” he grinds out. “I want to… I need you to….” He shuts his mouth, tries to keep the words inside because he doesn’t like how they sound.

Thorne shifts, moves one knee between Alaric’s legs, his thigh pressing down against the Alaric’s stiff cock. Alaric tries to rub against him, but Thorne leans more heavily, keeping him in place. “Tell me what you want, while you’re still able to consent,” Thorne says. “I have a lot of imagination, and a lot of crazy ideas.”

“That.” Alaric’s head falls back against the pillow, eyes closed as he averts his gaze.

A moment’s pause, curiosity lightening Thorne’s voice. “This?” He wraps his hands around Alaric’s wrists and removes them from the side of his face, pins them against the bed. He leans more heavily against Alaric, a blanket of weight that Alaric knows he could throw off, but he doesn’t want to.

Alaric heaves a sigh, feels tension slipping away. “That,” he confirms softly.

“You want me to take control,” Thorn says softly. “I can do that for you. But you need to do one more thing for me first. I’m going to list off some options, and you need to say yes or no. And saying yes doesn’t mean I keep going if it makes you uncomfortable. There’s no gag, I want you to talk to me. If you want to stop, we stop.”

“Please don’t stop.” Alaric’s voice is tight in his chest. “You can touch me anywhere you want, stick your fingers in me, I’m fine with it. Blow me if you want. I’ll blow you if you want, hand job, whatever. I’m not ready for you to fuck me. I don’t ever want to fuck you.” The words spill out in a needy rush. “Just. Be in control. Make me forget everything. Stop asking me fucking questions.” He opens his eyes, and Thorne’s looking down at him, his gaze intense.

Thorne’s a Mage. Alaric has to remind himself of that, that Thorne’s not an Empath, not trying to read him or change him somehow.

Thorne reels back, slides off the end of the bed with a compact, fluid motion. He shoves his sweats down, kicking them away. He wasn’t wearing underwear, his cock now bobbing free, thick and hard as it juts out from a thick patch of russet hair.

Thorne turns away, pads quietly to the bureau and digs through it, unearthing a black and yellow striped tie. He holds it up.

“Is that—”

“We are not having a discussion about childish pop culture references when I’m going to offer to tie you up with this,” Thorne says. He straddles Alaric’s chest when he returns, his weight heavy, his cock resting against Alaric’s skin. There’s a small drip forming at the tip, and the sticky fluid trails over Alaric when Thorne leans forward, reaching for his hands.

Alaric offers them, watches quietly as Thorne loops the tie around them, knotting it loosely. “Hands over your head,” Thorne says. “And keep them there.”

Alaric raises his hands slowly, feels the pull in his shoulders when he rests his hands behind the pillow. He licks his lips, and Thorne slides one finger across Alaric’s mouth, slides the tip of a finger in. Alaric licks at it, and Thorne grins.

“Someday, if you’re interested, I want to fuck your mouth,” Thorne says. “I could hold you down by straddling your head, just push my cock in. Put an eyebolt in the wall and loop the tie through that, so you couldn’t move your hands at all. And I’d feel it every time you whine, because I’d be thrusting into you, and you wouldn’t be able to move.”

Alaric groans, hips jerking. His underwear is wet, his cock leaking. All he can smell is musk and arousal, and it’s overwhelming.

“Definitely going on the future wish list,” Thorne mutters. “But not this time around. Let’s just get you feeling better.”

Thorne slides back, keeps his knees outside of Alaric’s hips, forcing him to bring his legs together so that Thorne can sit on the tops of his thighs. It puts Thorne in the perfect position to nudge Alaric’s underwear down and take out his cock, stroking it once from root to tip.

Alaric cries out, tries to thrust up but Thorne’s weight keeps him from moving easily. Alaric pants, the hound howling under his skin. “ _Fuck_ ,” he growls, and Thorne does it again.

It’s too fucking rough, but at the same time, Alaric can see Thorne’s hand around him, feels the press of fingers that aren’t his own. Thorne smirks slightly, pushes a hand on Alaric’s hip to keep him from moving, and strokes faster.

Alaric twists, and Thorne’s hand at his hip goes hot; Alaric stills instantly, gaze locked on Thorne’s other hand, the one rolling over the head of Alaric’s cock then pushing back down. He grunts, tries to push into that grip, tries desperately to get more of it. His balls feel tight, his thighs tense, and just at that moment, Thorne lets go.

Alaric whines loudly, and Thorne shakes his head. “Not abandoning you,” he murmurs, moving so that his hips rest in the cradle made by Alaric’s hips. Thorne leans forward, one hand on Alaric’s shoulder, weight heavy against him. He wraps his other hand around both of their dicks, and the scent in the room changes, blends more tightly as Thorne strokes them together. Thorne thrusts in shallow motions, his cock sliding along Alaric’s cock. As Alaric presses up, Thorne bears down against him, keeps him in place. He lets Alaric struggle but keeps pushing back, pushing down, sliding their cocks together, until Alaric’s eyes scrunch tightly shut and he comes with a low groan.

Thorne strokes him through it, then leans back slightly, plants his hand in the middle of Alaric’s chest. He looks down as he quickly strips his own cock, hand sticky and slick with Alaric’s come. Thorne licks his lips, and breath shudders through him, and a moment later his hips jerks, and he sprays sticky fluid across Alaric’s chest.

It’s warm and first, cooling quickly in the air. It smells bitter and yeasty, a rough mix of musk, and Alaric likes it. His hound curls up happily, whines softly under his skin, and Alaric grunts quietly.

Thorne wipes his hand on a towel that lies next to the bed, then sprawls out next to Alaric. “Better?”

Alaric’s eyes drift closed. He listens to the still-rapid beat of Thorne’s heart, breathes as they both come down from the high. “Fuck yeah,” he says quietly. “Messy, though.”

“I’ll get you cleaned up in a minute,” Thorne tells him, voice sounding a little like he’s drifting. Or maybe that’s just how Alaric feels, punch drunk from the sudden release of tension. “I’ll get a wet towel for next time.”

“Next time?”

A hand slaps him in the chest; Thorne makes a vaguely pained noise as his fingers slide through the mess. “Maybe I should go get that towel now. But yeah. Night’s still young, unless you have to be somewhere right away. Plenty of time to recover and keep on figuring out what helps you relax. Stop that itch under your skin.” Thorne rolls up on one elbow, watches Alaric. “If you’re up for it.”

Alaric could go home. This could be a once in a lifetime thing, just a really good orgasm and done now. Or he could take what Thorne’s offering, with no strings attached, and maybe, finally, be able to relax. Maybe it’ll help him get through Rush week with his sanity intact. Maybe he can stop thinking about sex when he shouldn’t be. He closes his eyes and sighs, hands twitching where they’re still tied together at the wrist. “I’m up for it.”

There’s a low laugh as Thorne’s hand circles Alaric’s soft cock. “Not yet, you’re not, but you will be. I give you twenty minutes.”

“I once got off four times in an hour,” Alaric rumbles softly. “Good porn. Didn’t get all that much time to myself, so I had to make the best of it. Clan can get back up pretty fast.”

“Fifteen minutes then,” Thorne decides. He doesn’t move, though, not to get a towel or to do anything else. And when Alaric grumbles softly and yanks Thorne closer, buries his face in his hair to inhale the scent of sex all around them, Thorne doesn’t push him away.

It’s all the comfort of Clan, and none of the fear of what Thorne thinks it means. It’s nothing more than sex; absolutely no strings attached. And right now, that’s exactly what Alaric needs.

**Author's Note:**

> If you liked Alaric's story, check out his book, which is part of [Welcome to PHU](http://welcometophu.tumblr.com). Alaric is the POV character for _Commit to the Kick_ , Book 1 of the _Twinned_ trilogy. 
> 
> You can start at the beginning [right here](http://welcometophu.tumblr.com/post/149928163275/orientation-1).


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